


It's Raining, It's Pouring

by Vengeful_Vulpix



Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, Character Study, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:01:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25212850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vengeful_Vulpix/pseuds/Vengeful_Vulpix
Summary: A small Victorian AU fic
Comments: 1
Kudos: 10





	It's Raining, It's Pouring

Maxwell had been walking home, products from the marketplace in his boney grasp, when it had started pouring down rain. He pulled the hood of his cloak over his head, walking faster as his wholecut dress shoes clicked against the wet brick walkway.

Wilson had been watching the sky from his window, nervous if hail was going to start. It was still quite early into the year, their last snowfall still visible from the sides of the roofs where the sun hadn't melted the snow just yet. Wilson saw Maxwell scrambling along the street and ran to the door. Wilson threw it open and called out over the sound of the storm,

"You'll catch death out here! Come in, come in." 

Maxwell ran towards the doorway, fast as his spindly legs would allow, muttering something about umbrellas and parasols as he did so. Once inside, the old magician shrugged off his cloak, the dark velvet matted down from the raindrops, and politely hung it on Wilson's coat rack. Maxwell took a look around Wilson's quaint doctor's office. Everything was about the same as the last time he'd been in there, with the papers and various trinkets scattered about what counter space he had, vials of lord-knows-what, and Wilson's prize possession, a large jar of disgusting little leeches Webber would often fetch for the doctor. Webber, Wilson's young, grubby apprentice, must've been out for the day. He usually would've greeted Maxwell with a sturdy hug.

"How is Wendy?" Wilson asked, leading the tall, frail man to the back of his office, through a sliding door, and to his living quarters. He gestured vaguely to the dusty wooden table, and left to fiddle in the small, detached kitchen area. Maxwell wrapped a thin hand around the top of a wooden chair, pulling it away from the table with a loud screech where the legs met the floor.

"Not well, I hate to admit. The girl needs constant supervision these days. She's having an awful time adjusting." Maxwell replied. Wilson nodded in understanding, and walked back to the table with a dingy silver platter, with little cups of tea balancing on it. He grabbed one by the dish underneath it, and placed it on the tablesetting in front of Maxwell. It was still broiling hot, and not very strong at all, merely flavored water, but Maxwell appreciated the gesture nonetheless.

Wilson knew all about poor Wendy's case. Her parents and her twin sister had very recently died to the plague, tearing apart the family in one fell swoop. After Wendy was proven to be perfectly healthy, miraculously, she was sent to live with the next of kin, who was none other than her Uncle, Maxwell Carter. The girl became very pessimistic, hardly talking and when she did, it was always something self-deprecating. Wilson never dealt with plague victims. He was a doctor for non-terminal ailments; the sniffles, achy joints, and the like. Wilson had never wanted to be a general practitioner. He had wanted to be out there with the rest of the Empirics. Practicing ways of cheating death itself. So he had heard.

"I can't even imagine, the poor dear. Who's watching her while you're away?" Wilson asked, snapping out of his wild train of thoughts. Maxwell had to have noticed Wilson spacing out, yet he didn't comment on it. He didn't comment much. He liked to silently observe more. Maxwell removed his monocle to dry the raindrops off.

"My sister-in-law, Winona. She's quite good with kids. Better than I am, at least." Maxwell replied. He reached for the honey at the center of the rickety table and poured a generous amount of it into the 'tea'. Wilson tried to recall any Winona's he knew, the only one he could think of being the iron-worker 3 blocks down. She was always giving herself minor burns or accidentally nicking herself on the metal she carved into. 

" ...How’s your wife?” Wilson asked. He immediately regretted asking, as he remembered Maxwell vaguely talking about her before. Few good things. Very few good things.

"In the ward, again. Her mind's playing tricks on her." Maxwell explained, far too quickly, tapping his fingers on the table in thought. He then reached into a pocket on the inside of his vest to pull out a small photograph. In nice light gray tones, there was a dark-haired woman, skin like porcelain. She wore pitch-black lip rouge that complimented her hair, contrasting with her very light eyes. She had short, wavy hair, shiny as a crow's feathers.

There was a deathly silence about them after that, the two just stirring in their own thoughts. 'How long have we sat here, staring at this photograph?' Wilson thought to himself. 'The tea is getting cold.'

Maxwell busied himself with looking around Wilson's living space. It was nearly as cluttered as the doctor's office, with papers thrown about over mismatched furniture. Nothing matched, as if everything was picked up wherever Wilson could find it. The doctor wasn't afraid of measly germs or bugs. Maxwell shuddered at the thought.

"You sound like you have a lot on your plate." Wilson finally said, breaking the silence. Maxwell simply nodded, no longer looking anywhere in particular, just staring into space. He reached into his vest pocket and pulled out a box of expensive cigars. He put one between his teeth, pulling a carved silver lighter from the same pocket. Wilson watched, patiently, then took a breath to make sure he had his attention.

"I can help- I mean, with Wendy at least. I like to think I'm pretty good with kids." Wilson added. Maxwell smiled slightly, almost sadly, at Wilson's response. Wilson looked at the other with a confused expression. Maxwell adjusted his cravat before continuing.

"You're very considerate, yet I promised my brother I wouldn't pawn her off as someone else's problem." Maxwell replied between gritted teeth, looking at the floor. Wilson then realized how tired Maxwell really looked. Maxwell never had a child. Now, he had lost his brother, his niece and his wife, and was watching a young child by himself. Wilson tapped his chin in thought.

“Webber wants to be her friend, you know. She could visit anytime.” Wilson stated, cleaning up the empty tea glasses. Maxwell was silent for a long moment. Then, he smiled.

“Yes, yes. I think that could work.”


End file.
